


Don't Stop Believin'

by wolfstarheart



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, College, Fluff, M/M, alcohol mention, remus and sirius are adorable nerds, well up and coming angst at least
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-03-25 10:24:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3806863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfstarheart/pseuds/wolfstarheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Sirius is a streetside artist, Remus is a world traveler, and somehow they end up as college roommates. Plenty of fluff, plenty of angst, and one James Potter. (Prev. It's A Small World After All)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. strangers waiting, up and down the boulevard

**Author's Note:**

> As always, Harry Potter and its world doesn't belong to me. Also, I might be a little too emotionally invested in this story for my own good. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The sun was beginning its descent down the horizon when Sirius first saw The Boy. 

At barely eighteen himself, he was hardly more than that, but being too shy to talk to him he had to assume his age based on his appearance. (It wasn't, of course, a reason to check him out. Of course not).

Light brown hair, amber eyes. The kind that seem to swirl with flecks of golden, but when you look into them you see nothing but darkness. Scars. Lots of scars. (That, he was familiar with). And a smile that made his stomach curl up in on itself, a smile that made his world spin. 

(He definitely wasn't familiar with that). 

The Boy didn't seem to be alone. He was flanked by a short, greying lady whom Sirius thought might have been his mother, though she didn't look anywhere near as old as Sirius' own (not that Walburga Black was a standard to hold others to, mind). 

In any case, nothing would've happened. He didn't expect that, what, they'd magically gaze into each other's eyes at the same time, and fall in love instantaneously? True, he was a hopeless romantic, but he wasn't  _that_ hopeless. Besides, Broadside View was a common tourist destination, and there were plenty of hot vacationers. It was no big deal. 

Except then something did happen. 

"Hey, how much to draw me?" a voice said, and Sirius swallowed so loudly he thought it might've been audible. 

The Boy had a sweet voice. Kind of rough, but the soft rock, ukulele-singer sort of rough. Like going rock-climing, and then roasting marshmallows at a campfire afterwards. 

"Uh... what?" Sirius blinked awkwardly, feeling a blush warm his cheeks. He felt a weird buzzing at the back of his mind, like he should be able to figure out what The Boy was talking about, but was too preoccupied with other thoughts (like how cute his nose was) to actually focus on that. 

"You know, like, the price I have to pay. You do sketches, right?" The Boy said, gesturing to the colorful sign next to Sirius. 

Unconsciously, Sirius raised a hand to ruffle his hair-- he'd been spending too much time with James, dammit, he couldn't afford to look even poorer than he actually was-- and nodded slowly. "Thing is, I'm going to lunch now." He looked up at the boy from his position sprawled on the sidewalk, and smiled slightly. "Sorry, mate. I'd love to do you another time. You've a beautiful face."

The Boy blushed: a pale pinkish color that seeped over to his nose and made his cheekbones even more prominent. "Ah, thanks," he said awkwardly, shoving his hands (long thin fingers, a silver crescent-shaped ring) into the pockets of his ragged jeans. "But Mum and I are only here for another couple of hours: just looking around, you know. We'll be leaving on the train back to goodness knows where after that." He sighed. "It's a traveler's lifestyle. You get used to it."

Sirius' eyes widened. "That sounds... fascinating," he breathed. "I've always wanted to see places. Move around. Wanderlust sucks if you're broke as hell."

"It gets lonely," The Boy replied, with just the hint of dejection. "You know your life kinda stinks when you're nearly eighteen and haven't had a proper friend since you were four."

At that, Sirius had made his mind up. "Well, that's going to change right now, alright? You're having lunch with me. Go tell your mom you want to, I dunno, make out with a girl or something." At The Boy's splutter, he added quickly, "Actually, nah, not a good idea. Just. Ditch her in some boring clothes shop or something, okay? And come hang out with me. I promise I'm not a murderer." He grinned wildly, half-knowing that wasn't exactly helping his case, half-not caring at all. 

He nodded, and walked off in the direction of where Sirius thought he'd seen the lady disappear off too-- and soon enough, he returned, a broad smile on his (insanely adorable, Sirius needed to mention) face. "I've about an hour," he said, panting slightly (it seemed like he'd jogged all the way back, which made Sirius smile despite himself). "Hope this place is worth my time." He laughed, and so did Sirius, and he couldn't help but notice how different their laughs were: whereas his was loud, barking, and filled his whole body, The Boy chuckled in the quiet, mysterious sort of way that made you feel like you were in on an inside joke that nobody else would get.

"I sure hope so too," Sirius joked, eyes sparkling. "If you don't like the Potters' turkey subs, you're a monster."

Suddenly The Boy stopped, a brief look of terror flashing across his face before being replaced by smooth inscrutableness. "I'm sorry," he said, walking faster to catch up.

"Hey, did I say something wrong?"

The Boy paused. Shrugged. "It's fine," he said tightly. 

"I'm sorry," Sirius said, a sharp twinge of guilt in his gut. "I didn't--"

"I know," The Boy said with a slight smile, and Sirius let out the breath he'd been holding for who knows how long. 

As they made their way across the busy, tourist-packed street, The Boy laughed suddenly. At Sirius' raised eyebrows, he explained, "The reason why I looked so flustered at your suggestion for me to tell my mom I'm making out with some chick wasn't because I'm, like, awkward about romance or anything." 

"I'm very gay," he elaborated, when Sirius only looked at him curiously. 

For a second, Sirius' skin flushed-- and he didn't even know why, goddamn it-- before he burst out into laughter, so loud, it felt like the ragged gasps of air were tearing at his esophagus. "What?" The Boy asked, a bit defensively. 

"It's just--" Sirius choked out, still giggling a few minutes later, "that was very... forthright. 'I'm very gay'." He dissolved in another round of laughter, during which the amber-eyed teen just stared at him amusedly. 

"Well, I am, in my defense," he said, when Sirius' moment of hilarity seemed to have passed. "I had some random suburban mom walk up to me back when we stayed in a town for about half a year and yell that I'd 'turned her son into a raging homosexual'."

"Oh my  _fucking_ god," Sirius gasped, laughing harder. "Bless you, ah... wait, what's your name?"

"Remus," The Boy said, smiling slightly shyly this time. 

"Bless you, Remus. The Converter of Raging Homosexuals. I will pray at your altar, as long as you turn me into one of your loyal devotees... oh wait," Sirius said, stopping melodramatically and looking at Remus with a practiced expression of haunting regret, "I am already, as you put it, 'very gay'. Oh well," he added, carrying on and ignoring the stares they were getting from the vacationers packed around them, "I can still be plenty devoted to you." He winked, grinning at the way Remus blushed brightly. 

"Oh god, you're worse than a murderer," Remus said as they finally ducked into the little café. 

"And why is that, O Converter? Wait, no, that makes you sound like a car... never mind..."

Remus laughed slightly before replying. "A fuckboy is a hundred times worse than a serial killer, and you, dear sir, are the Greatest of Fuckboys."

"Oi, Sirius, did I hear someone say  _fuckboy_?"a voice said, and the owner of it, a tall, skinny dark-skinned boy with the messiest hair both of them had ever seen, came into view. "Because--" and here he paused, to wink at his audience-- "I'm here, my beloved."

Sirius rolled his eyes, smirking, but before he'd gotten a chance to reply sassily, Remus stepped in. "No, sorry, I'd just given the throne to  _Sirius_ here; guess it's a fight to the death then, huh? I'll take whomever survives." He winked back, grinning. 

James cocked an eyebrow. "Good taste," he said appreciatively in the vague direction of Sirius, who spluttered indignantly. 

"What-- James-- no-- we aren't--  _I'm not_ \--"

Remus shut him up by grabbing his hand and holding it up. "Aw, jealous, James?" he teased. "Don't worry. Your turn will come later."

Sirius' heart raced as his head turned so he could properly see their intertwined hands. Then he wished that he hadn’t, because suddenly he felt queasy, like hands were kneading his stomach into worms that were devouring any semblance to placidness that he’d had before. Somehow, he wanted to cover James’ eyes, like he was intruding on something really intimate: and that was stupid, wasn’t it?

“Man,” James said with a sigh (a helpful diversion from _him_ , Sirius thought with relief), “you just might’ve out-fuckboyed me this time. Let me show you to your seats,” he said, his familiar wicked grin back in place, and Sirius numbly followed his friend to the back table in the tiny private alcove that he usually saved for friends. 

(At some point, he thought he registered that Remus still hadn’t let go of his hand).

(No, he definitely wasn’t thinking about it).

(Not at all). 

Sirius sat down beside Remus on the plush cushioned seat, waiting until James had stopped fidgeting and settled into the chair opposite them before he asked, “So, when’s your mum letting you get off your shift?”

James scratched his head. “Dunno,” he said, checking his watch. “Probably anther hour until I’m released from her clutches.” 

“And, of course, you’re doing your duties admirably, I see,” Remus interjected, smirking. 

“Mmhmm. The customers can take orders themselves, no biggie,” James said unconcernedly. “So, what’ll you guys have?”

“Turkey sub,” Sirius replied automatically. “For him too, I think. Unless—“ he turned to Remus— “you’re not vegetarian, are you?”

Remus burst out laughing. “Oh _gods_ no,” he said, grinning. “Please, I practically live on steak.”

“James, why don’t you have steak here?” Sirius demanded, mock-glaring at his friend. 

“The weak at heart will be weeded out in this game of survival,” Remus intoned lowly. 

James just looked at them both curiously. “Well, continue being, well, very gay, get comfortable, whatever. Ah, not too comfortable, we don’t really condone sexual activity in the café, even if it is a private booth you’re in—“ he stopped when Sirius chucked a napkin at his face; it missed, draping itself comically over the boy’s sticking-up hair. “Okay, got it, I’ll bring you your meals soon, I’ll try not to spit in them.” He smirked and stood up, walking away with a spring in his step that Sirius knew from experience meant nothing good. 

“He sounds like a nice friend,” Remus said, slightly wistfully, Sirius thought. 

Then, something occurred to him— “You don’t, you know, _like_ him, d’you?”

Remus buried his face in his hands. “Ugh, no, you dolt,” he said playfully. “Besides, he’s obviously in love with that ginger waitress over there. It’s obvious,” and Sirius followed his gaze over to where James was trying— and failing— to woo one Lily Evans. (The fact that he still hadn’t bothered to pull the paper napkin off his head probably didn’t help). 

“Wow, you’re observant,” Sirius noted, cocking an eyebrow. “It took James himself two years to realize that he was into her and not, you know, merely obsessed with her to the point of writing purple prose about the _exact shade of her jade green eyes, soft as the mottled surface of a pond that’s had just the right amount of moonshine ripple across its luminous breadth._ ”

The boy laughed again, and Sirius couldn’t help but notice, for probably the third time in a row, that Remus had a very nice laugh: not the rough bark that was typical of him, nor the full-body roar that James was prone to— it was a soft chuckle that brought out the little things, the little dimple in the side of his cheek, the little scrunch at the top of his nose, the little quirk of his upper lip that became even more prominent when he was laughing at one of Sirius’ jokes— and the worms were back, clawing at his sanity, and Sirius wanted to stab something. 

“I take it he hasn’t had any success with her, then?” Remus asked, shaking him out of his reverie, something he was immensely thankful for. 

“If you don’t count a half-hearted ‘happy birthday, idiot’ last year as success, then no,” he replied, shuffling a little closer to the brunette unconsciously. 

At that point, James emerged from the kitchen bearing a tray and two plates nearly completely filled up by ravishing-looking sandwiches. Sirius leaned forward eagerly, practically drooling at the sight. 

“Sirius, do you have any self-control?” Remus commented, raising a hand to push him back into his seat with a shake of his head. (Sirius tried not to think about the way his shoulder felt like electricity for hours after that, he tried not to think about the way Remus’ hand was soft and broad and just forceful enough to be noticeable). 

“Not an ounce,” James said, setting the food down on their table. “Try not to start doing all those cutesy couple things, like feeding each other little bites of your food or whatever. For my sanity and your dignity, though I suppose in his case—“ he jerked a finger in the general direction of the haughty dark-haired teen, “—that doesn’t really apply.”

Remus rolled his eyes, though he smiled broadly. “We’ll try,” he promised earnestly, cracking his knuckles slightly. 

“Get lost, you arsehole,” Sirius cut in, and James, muttering something that sounded vaguely like ‘mates before dates, indeed’, surprisingly obeyed. 

They tucked into their food and the banter faded into a comfortable silence, broken only by a couple of “pass me a tissue” and, on occasion, a brief apology when their elbows knocked together (Sirius may or may not have been doing some of them on purpose). 

And then,  _and then_ , suddenly they'd finished their meals and were staring at empty plates, and for the first time in over an hour it was kind of awkward. Two boys, one with his totally-punk leather jacket and too-skinny skinny-jeans and the other with his oversized sweater and baggy trousers and  _adorably stupid fluffy beanie_ , and the air was tense, too tense, and Sirius felt like if he broke the silence he'd break the somehow perfect companionship they seemed to have struck up, even though it didn't make sense and he shouldn't be getting attached to someone who'd be leaving the country in little under an hour--

"Well, I guess this is it, then," Remus said finally. He pushed his plate away slightly, Sirius tried not to watch the muscles straining underneath his sweater, and they both felt a little bit lonelier.

"Yeah, I guess it is," Sirius replied, a little too quickly for it to be natural. 

Remus glanced at his watch. "Yeah, Mum'll have my arse if I'm any later," he said dryly, and Sirius laughed just a little bit, and it seemed to make things a tiny bit better. 

"Well, I guess we'll leave, then," Sirius said, standing up at the same time Remus did. Their shoulders brushed against each other, and almost instinctively they both shuffled away like that brief touch had been fiery hot. (Which, Sirius reflected, it was). 

They left without saying goodbye to James, because it felt, somehow, inappropriate for Remus to bid farewell to someone he wouldn't see again at the same time that Sirius would do the same to a guy he'd been best friends with for most of his life. And then they were pressing between people and places and the smell of the late afternoon lightly roasting the tip of the pavement. Snatches of cigarette smoke, glimpses of men in linen hawking their wares, and all the while,  _Remus_ with his slight smile and larger eyes and lips that Sirius so desperately tried not to look at. 

"You got kik?" Sirius asked suddenly, and they both burst into laughter after a brief second of silence. 

When they'd calmed down enough to breathe without choking on the warm midsummer air, Remus replied, "No, actually, because I'm not a  _fuckboy_ like you."

"I don't have kik either," Sirius said gleefully. "I just really wanted to say that."

As they shuffled in front of a group of tall gossiping women, Sirius cast a side-along glance at the taller boy. "I don't suppose you've got... Skype... or, I guess, a phone?"

Remus giggled slightly. "I'd give you my number but, you know, traveling. We're usually camping out in places that have no coverage. So I don't suppose there's much point to that."

Somehow, that seemed a lot more final. 

"Guess I'll say goodbye, then," Sirius said, when he realized he'd come to a halt in front of his now-battered-looking sign resting against the grey cement wall of the nearby building. 

"Guess I will too."

They stared at each other, and suddenly Sirius wanted to beg him to stay--

"Goodbye, Sirius," Remus said, and he was gone. 

The sun had nearly disappeared behind the skyline when Sirius last saw The Boy.

Or, at least, that's what he thought.  

 

 


	2. for a smile they can share the night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a reunion, a party, and Remus being emo as hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! The second chapter. I mean it's been, what, three weeks? But it's done at last, so...
> 
> -All chapter titles are from Don't Stop Believin' by Journey-
> 
> Enjoy! 8)

The way James and Sirius celebrate always goes one of two ways:

  1. They go to one of the many parties that are thrown in the general vicinity (or not, they won't mind driving an extra few miles), get drunk, go home with a stranger and wake up with no memory of the previous night;
  2. Or they marathon Friends on the cough, consume more popcorn than is technically healthy, and stay up until three am, half-tipsy, half-blissful, and talk about things that don't make sense in the morning but were the center of the universe at that moment in time. 



This was one of the latter occasions. James was sprawled horizontally on the plush sofa in the Potters' living room, the TV remote clutched lazily in one hand, a half-full beer can in the other; Sirius was curled up on the floor, a mess of blankets and pillows and leather; and both of them were happy and sad in that inconspicuous but momentous way that best friends can be.  

At last, James tossed down the remote with an exasperated sigh. "There's nothing on," he grumbled, and he didn't have to say that neither of them were in the mood to rewatch the episodes they'd watched a hundred times before. This was too big. Too important. 

Pretending would work for awhile. It always did, but then it didn't: there was only so much alcohol James could consume, or punk music Sirius could listen to, before they got sick of avoiding the things they so desperately needed to talk about. 

Finally, James sighed. He sat up, the blankets curling around his lean figure in a way that was half-awkward, half-comfortable, and arranged himself into a mostly-upright position with enough height that he could see Sirius without having to stretch his neck. "So. College."

"Yep," Sirius agreed, reaching for another beer. " _College_."

The word hung between them, heavy and dark and confusing, and Sirius blinked the sleep out of his eyes. 

"This is a good thing, though," James said, more strongly this time. "You finally have enough money to--"

"--to do what, though?" Sirius cut in angrily.  _This was new,_ James thought, raising an eyebrow. It usually took more than just a few sentences to provoke his friend into spilling what was bothering him. Still, he wasn't complaining: Sirius Black had altogether too many secrets for his own good, and James figured it'd help him to confess some of them. 

"Art," James said blankly. "Isn't that what you love to do?"

Sirius stared at him like he'd, quite possibly, gone completely insane. "Of course it is," he said petulantly. "But maybe-- I mean-- they're right, yeah? I can't fund my entire life on a few paintings. Maybe it would be easier if, you know, I wasn't disowned. If I had a family who  _cared._ " And James wanted to interrupt, wanted to say that  _he_ was family, that the Potters would always be Sirius’ family. 

But they’d had this argument too many times before, and so he just waited. 

"But I don't, James: if I fucking fail at art,  _at life_ , I'll never-- I don't-- I  _fucking don't know whether I even want to succeed--_  I don't even know what success is-- I'm just--"

Sirius looked away, and James couldn't tell whether his expression was one of hysterical hilarity or anguish. Probably both, knowing him. 

"You're going to be alright," James said: and he didn't know what else to say, true, but that just felt  _right_. 

(And if Sirius wasn't going to be alright, James would give up everything to help him to get there). 

Sirius turned to him, and he was smiling, and it wasn't a pranking grin nor a sad half-grimace-- it was just a smile. 

"Yeah, I suppose I will be."

James rummaged for the remote again from underneath the several layers of blankets, retrieving it from the gap between the cushions after a comfortable pause. He turned on the TV, the static filling his ears and washing over him until it drowned out all the things that were wrong in their lives. 

"Guess it isn't too late to start rewatching Sex In The City," he said casually, and Sirius grinned back. 

 

***

 

Hope Lupin loved to knit. 

There was something mesmerizing about the way each stitch slotted into place to form a myriad of patters and shapes and colors and  _memories_ , something beautiful about the way little mistakes and quirks of the needle made each piece distinctly her own. 

She used to like embroidery. 

(Now, her fingers are rather more callused, and the old small silver needles have been replaced by longer ones, and the spools of thread have been used to mend clothes while the wool mends her heart). 

That was when they'd been, well, a  _family_. She'd been young and dainty and petite and sewing elaborate flowers onto cloth felt like growing up. 

Growing up was ripping apart the threads and throwing everything away, growing up was tearing out the weeds out of the demure white fabric, growing up was getting rid of the faux elegance and satin and glass slippers and realizing that beneath them all was someone just so goddamn scared of the world. 

Lyall had been scared too. 

Lyall had been scared when she'd told him she was pregnant at nineteen, he'd been scared because hell, they were children, and children couldn't start a family. But they thought they were brave, so they got married and tried to find themselves a postcard house to stay in, tried to build a postcard life out of half-broken dreams and half-grown-into dresses. 

Remus was born on a cold, quiet evening, and when his cries first pierced the air, Lyall wasn't there to hear them. 

He'd been colder and quieter for a while now. 

A few weeks later, when Hope had just begun to hate him, he appeared at her doorstep and asked if they could have tea. And it was outrageous and insolent but-- but she said yes anyway. (Maybe she was still in love with him. Maybe she thought she was in love with him. Maybe she just didn't  _think_ ). 

"I'm sorry," he'd said, looking older than he should've, sounding younger than he was-- "But I can't-- I can't raise a  _child,_ Hope! I've just turned twenty and you're not much older than I am. Maybe if you, if you just--"

"I'm not putting Remus up for adoption," she'd cut across, glaring keenly at him. 

"Remus?" It was the first time she'd ever heard his voice break. And he was a singer, someone who should've been able to paint with his words and act with his voice, but he'd never sounded more  _real_ than he had then. "We never decided on a name."

 _"You_ never decided on a name," Hope had said quietly. 

"You know-- you know I don't want to leave you, yeah? I mean. I care about you. I care about  _him_. I'm just so, so sorry, Hope, I just-- I don't-- I'm leaving you because I know we'll be better off that way--"

"I think you should go," she interjected, setting down her (untouched) cup of tea with a soft thud. "Remus doesn't need this  _bullshit_ in his life."

Lyall glanced over at the boy, who was curled up in the cot at the side of the room, and clung onto his tea. "He's sleeping, Hope."

"Well, maybe  _I_ don't need your bullshit, then."

And that was that. 

The house became oppressive, filled with memories of  _him,_ of  _them,_ so she packed up and left with Remus clinging to her arms and wailing loudly. She caught a train to goodness knows where, and slept in a poky little motel with no heating and cracks down the walls that seemed like a perfect metaphor for her life at the time. 

The next day, she decided it was time to move. And she just never stopped. Remus grew up in a suitcase, with memories full of walking for miles and scenery that kept changing. 

 _Maybe,_ she thought one day, _we could do this forever._

But a teenage boy does not know the meaning of forever, and so when Remus Lupin age seventeen, asked timidly one day, “Mum, can I go to college?” she didn’t know what to do. 

Time passed, time passed so fast though, and suddenly she was standing at a train station, waving her son off with the beginnings of tears in her eyes. “Will you miss me forever?” she called.

“Forever and ever,” Remus promised. 

This time, she knew it would last. 

And so she settled back into her armchair and began to knit. 

***

 

“So, you’ll be fine then? If your new roommate turns out to be a serial killer, call me. Or the cops. Whatever. And, and, make sure you pay your electricity bills, and—“

“Jeez, James, no need to be such a mother hen,” Sirius said, laughing, shoving his friend in the arm lightly as the bespectacled boy’s beaten up old van pulled into the apartment complex. “I’m gonna be fine, y’know.”

James shoved his glasses back up his nose. “I know,” he said, knuckles whitening around the wheel. “It’s just—“ he tilted his head, turned to look at the boy beside him— “this is the first time we’re going to be apart, aren’t we? You in your new uni with your new roommate, me staying home and helping with the shop and attending community college in the meantime. It’s going to be different.”

Sirius smiled despite himself. “That’s adorable,” he joked as they pulled to a stop. “You actually care, aw…” Before James could punch him, he slid elegantly out of the seat, slamming the door shut behind him. “You should come up and meet my new roommate, though. At least then you’ll be sure I’m left in safe hands.” 

James grinned back at him. “Sounds like a plan,” he said. 

Three staircases up, and Sirius was not so sure either of them wanted to follow through with it. When he’d been here to rent it, it had seemed like a nice enough neighborhood: walls that weren’t too chipped, working taps and a lack of a rat infestation, which was always a plus. But now that he was here for good, lugging a trunk behind him, he could see all the little flaws in the cramped stairwell that he’d missed on his first idealistic journey to Flat 408. The ants scurrying around on the damp wood flooring, the air that smelled of must and old sandwiches, the way he missed Broadside and its cheerful chatter that was now replaced by an almost eerie silence. 

However, that didn’t mask the thrill that shot up his arms when, with slightly trembling fingers, he slid the key into the lock of his very own apartment and pushed the door open. 

 _Home,_ he thought gleefully. _This is home._

Then, it didn’t look so much like it: blank peeling walls, poky rooms, a bathroom with enough grime that he felt a bit queasy about actually using it. But, as James pulled in the mattress he’d stolen from home and tossed it onto the floor, unsettling a small cloud of dust, Sirius thought it would be soon. 

They’d only just finished setting up: Sirius bringing up the sparse bits of furniture they’d either nicked from the Potters’ or found lying about for free, James attempting to begin cleaning the place, when the doorbell rang. An uncertain little chime, like the ringer wasn’t sure whether he’d be allowed to come in or not, filled his ears. 

“I’ll get it,” Sirius called, catching sight of James’ face and knowing his friend would probably bring a shotgun to the door with him, what with the mood he was in. 

Dusting his hands off, he peered through the little spy hole and realized that it was clogged with more dust— typical. “Ah well,” he mumbled, fidgeting with the key and unsteadily unlocking it after a pause. 

He stared at the boy opposite him, and it was a mutual gaze of confusion and surprise and sheer shock. 

“Remus?”

 

*

Remus Lupin was not good at making tea, and that was the first thing he said in the minutes that they were standing there, just looking at each other with almost comically-widened eyes. 

“That’s okay,” Sirius breathed, and it sounded like an invitation (well, more like acknowledgement, seeing as they did share the apartment) but neither made any attempt to move out of the doorway. 

Then the grey-eyed boy sneezed loudly, and Remus stepped back on instinct, unable to ignore the fact that he did have the cutest sneeze ever: a small, red-nosed _achoo!_ despite his otherwise tough-looking appearance. “Sorry,” Sirius said when his eyes had stopped watering— and no, Remus wasn’t paying attention— “I’ve been cleaning, or attempting to, at least. This place is super dusty, you have no idea.”

“I suppose I will, seeing as I live here,” Remus replied, laughing slightly. 

At that, the other boy blushed. “Right, I should probably, er, let you in. Sorry,” he mumbled again, shuffling awkwardly to the side so that Remus had just enough space to sidle into what looked like the living room (though not much living could currently be done there, seeing as it was only furnished with a threadbare loveseat and what looked like the remains of a rug). He walked further in, slightly awkwardly, knowing from the sound of light footsteps behind him that Sirius had followed. 

Then, someone’s cheery voice rang out: “Mate, close the fucking door, or you’ll get muggers your first night here!”

A familiar-looking boy stepped out of another room, and it only took a few seconds for Remus to place a name to the face: “Hey, James,” he said casually, his clear gaze making a quick assessment of Sirius’ friend: he too was covered with must— or at least, Remus _hoped_ it was must— which he figured meant that James had been helping Sirius to settle in. 

However, James Potter looked to Remus like he was pretty angry, which pretty intimidating even if he was nineteen-year-old wearing a grey-stained tee and Crocs and holding a sodden washcloth in both hands. He almost wanted to back off, almost wanted to say he’d leave his best friend alone now— but then the hard hazel-eyed glare softened, and when Remus looked back up James was smiling protectively. 

“You should’ve told me your mystery roommate was Remus!” James said happily, walking over and clapping him on the back, which made him wheeze slightly as he inhaled a mouthful of dusty air. 

“I didn’t know,” Sirius said with an insulted air, just as Remus chimed in, “the college set it up for us, James. We don't find out who we were rooming with until today.”

James shrugged, looking from Sirius to Remus with a smirk on his face that Remus really didn’t want to know the reason for. “Guess destiny knew what it was doing, then,” he said slightly dramatically. 

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Go on, make yourself useful, Prongs, and help us set up.”

Fortunately, Remus had brought some of his own furniture: most of which wasn’t falling apart or infested with cockroaches (or both, as Sirius had tragically found out when he collapsed onto the loveseat and jumped up with a yell when a huge black bug started making its way down his leg).

“Someone had to do it,” the brunet had said, putting the finishing touches onto his masterful assembly of an Ikea armchair, grinning at Sirius when he’d asked how a practically nomadic teen had managed to find actually habitable pieces of furniture. “I figured you were, you know, too punk rock to actually go shopping for a dining table.”

“That I am,” Sirius said, giving him a mock-salute. “Being seen carrying a coffee maker is _siriusly_ detrimental to my street cred.”

“Merlin, you didn’t,” Remus groaned, sinking onto said Ikea chair and shaking his head dramatically. “Your name puns are awful. You can’t be… sirius.”

“And there I was, thinking you had forgotten my name!” Sirius exclaimed, bringing a hand to his forehead. 

“Yeah, it’s hard to forget the biggest idiot you’ve ever met,” the other boy countered, chucking a wad of crumpled-up tissue paper at him. 

“You wound me, Remus Lupin,” he said, clutching his heart with the theatrics of eighth grade boys trying to do Shakespeare. 

“Wait, how d’you know my full name? You haven’t been stalking me, have you?” Remus asked suspiciously. 

“Ooh, bet you’d want me to, don’t you? What would I find on the internet? Drunk Facebook photos? An emo Myspace?”

“...For your information, I was _thirteen._ And My Chemical Romance is actually pretty good.”

“Oh my god.” 

“Literally fight me, arsehole.”

“When I was a young boy, my father took me into the city to see a marching band, and he said ‘son, when you grow up, never be emo’."

“My father left before I was born, so I couldn’t exactly take any advice from him.”

“God, I’m sorry,” Sirius mumbled, not meeting his eyes. “I didn’t—“

“It’s okay,” Remus interjected, standing up so he was at eye-level (or just about, being fairly taller than the other boy) with Sirius. “It was just a joke, man.”

“Yeah. Nice.” Shoes scuffing on stained floor, awkward shuffle, guilty blush. Sirius finally looked up and was grateful to see that Remus didn’t look upset at all. 

“You didn’t answer my question, though. How _did_ you know my last name?” the amber-eyed teen asked at last. 

“It’s on your suitcase,” Sirius replied, gesturing vaguely at the brown trunk they’d pulled over to the back wall, for unpacking once they actually had some place to keep clothes in. “Remus J. Lupin,” he read off, squinting at the faded gold lettering on the surface. 

Remus blushed. “My mom was— still is, really— a mythology geek. And with a last name like Lupin… she, well, she went wild with it. I’m still holding eighteen years of wolf puns against her.”

Sirius smirked. “Harsh, Moony.”

“No.”

“Yes _._ ”

“ _Noooooooooo_ ….”

“Well if it makes you feel any better, my nickname’s Padfoot.”

Remus, who’d just taken a giant gulp of water from a plastic bottle he’d been fiddling with nervously, choked a little and swallowed heavily before he spat it all out on the other boy. “Do I want to know?” he spluttered, rubbing his nose, which had gone ( _adorably,_ Sirius hastened to add) red. 

“Hey, I’m offended,” Sirius mumbled, still grinning at the outburst. “My nicknaming skills are on point, than you very much. James there—“ he pointed towards the sound of muffled clattering coming from the kitchen, mixed with a baritone voice humming/singing what sounded like 2002 Britney Spears, “—is Prongs. Peter, whom you haven’t met yet but will probably see around here soon— he’s the son of the botany professor in this place— is Wormtail. I’m Padfoot, and now _you_ are Moony.”

“Should I be proud? Is this an alter-ego? Are you guys secretly superheroes?”

“Name: Padfoot. Powers: Rescuing cute boys from the clutches of Ikea,” Sirius said, winking. 

Remus buried his head in this hands, trying to hide the fact that he was blushing slightly (read a _lot_ ) and failing. “Name: Moony. Powers: saving _idiot_ boys from getting infestations their first night in their new apartment,” he responded when he figured he’d regained enough composure to not stutter on his words. 

“What would I do without you, Moony?” Sirius cried melodramatically.

“Probably die of gayness,” James said, walking out of the kitchen at last. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and soap suds still clung to his fingers. 

“I agree,” Remus said, raising an eyebrow. “Not to mention, you’d be living in a pigsty. A cockroach-sty, more like.”

“Mmmmfff, fine, I’ll get back to work,” Sirius groaned when James chucked his washcloth at him, and so they lapsed into a comfortable silence, Remus setting up another piece of bright Ikea merchandise, James working on cleaning the floor (despite grumbling about ‘incapable best friends’, he seemed more than happy to help) and Sirius— well, Remus wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing, but it sounded a lot like procrastinating on cleaning the bathroom by singing AC/DC in the shower. 

Somehow, it was actually pretty fun. Setting up home in this stupid punk rock apartment. Actually _having_ a home. 

And well, being around Sirius wasn’t exactly a downer either. 

Remus grinned. 

“You look almost too happy about fitting together pieces of wood,” James commented as he helped the brunet with putting together the last joint of a desk that they hoped would not collapse when it was pulled over to the back of the room. 

“It’s nice. Having friends. Being here,” Remus mumbled shyly, not looking up at James. 

“Mmm. I’m almost jealous,” the darker boy replied, but he sounded like he was smiling too. 

By about six in the evening, they’d pretty much set up a flat that would not kill them or poison their food, and Remus was pretty proud of himself— of all of them. “We should get something to eat,” he suggested, looking around at the mismatched but comfy-looking furniture spread out across the place. 

“I’m starving too,” James called from the tiny kitchen, where he was undoubtedly scrounging for food. “You guys didn’t even stock the cupboards. We have no coffee. What is wrong with you guys?”

“We,” Sirius grumbled, pointing at the messy-haired boy accusingly, “are not your pantry. Your family literally owns a diner, Prongs.”

“That’s all well and good, Sirius, but he does have a point. We have no food,” Remus said reasonably. 

In response, Sirius swung himself on top of the kitchen counter easily (Remus tried not to stare at the way his muscles bulged as he lifted himself up so his legs dangled over the edge) and grinned. “Who said anything about food?” he said, smirking. “Peter’s having a party at his place. All drinks on him. I think we’re good to go.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. Spiked alcohol, he thought, was not exactly his idea of a good dinner. But then again--

“Fuck it,” he decided, pulling Sirius off his perch and tugging his jacket over his shoulders determinedly. “We’re getting smashed tonight.”

*

 

It was loud. 

Peter’s flat was huge and airy, with white walls and modern furniture and a kamikaze of rooms— just some of the perks of his father being a member of the college staff. In the morning, Sirius knew, it would be a mess of spilled drinks and hungover students lying naked in one of the many beds, and Peter would be scurrying to herd them out before his father came along in the afternoon for one of his daily checks. But now, it was a _beautiful_ mess of spilled drinks and drunk kids, and strobe lights flashed across the living room, and Peter had even gotten one of his many acquaintances to DJ— and Sirius thought it was perfect. 

“This is Moony— well, Remus,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the taller brunet by his side. “He’s my new roommate.”

“Good to meet you, mate,” Peter said, reaching across him to shake hands with Remus, who looked more than a little overwhelmed. The music increased in volume, and Sirius could _feel_ it vibrating through his chest, the bass shaking him from his toes up and making his head spin with more than drunkenness. 

“Good party, mate!” he yelled across the random Top 40 song that was blaring from the speakers situated craftily out of sight around the house. “The things you get up to under your dad’s nose!”

“He’s utterly oblivious,” Peter called back, grinning. “It’s great, isn’t it?”

“He teaches college kids all year round,” Remus said, cocking an eyebrow. “How does he not suspect you’re anything less than a straight-a student?”

Peter shrugged. “All the better for me, mate!” he yelled. A short blonde girl stumbled across the room towards them, and tugged on the chubby boy’s arm insistently. “Guess i should go!” he slurred before making his way across the dance floor/mosh pit/whatever it was tipsily alongside the chick. 

“Well, he seems to be popular,” Remus said. 

“He is. I mean, he’s been staying in this area for years. There are people here who graduated four years ago,” Sirius replied, wincing when a tall boy bumped into him, spilling a bit of the contents of his red solo cup (Remus would’ve labeled it as beer, except knowing this place it probably had a lot more in it) onto the floor. “Watch where you’re going, dickhead,” he mumbled at the retreating figure. 

“Leave him,” Remus said, reaching out to lower Sirius’ raised arm. His skin felt slightly sweaty and logically it should’ve been cold— it was like eleven degrees in here— but Remus felt like his fingers were burning up, and let go of the grey-eyed boy’s limb as soon as possible. 

“Hey, where’s James gone off to?” Sirius asked, craning his neck to peer around at the drinks table, where they’d last seen the bespectacled teen. “He was here a few minutes ago…”

Remus turned around, scanned the room (as best as he could, anyway, what with the lighting and the dancing and the people smoking goodness knows what) and furrowed his brow. “I don’t see him either— oh, wait, there, by the door, chatting up that ginger—“

Sirius followed his gaze. “Holy shit, is that LIly? I didn’t know she went here.” He made to walk towards them, but Remus tugged him back insistently. 

“Leave them be,” he said pointedly, making sure his voice would carry over to the struggling boy. “Don’t interrupt them. It looks like it’s going well, anyway—“

They watched as the two started to make out, pretty passionately in Remus’ opinion: _okay, passionately might be too light a word_ , he thought as he turned away, grimacing a little. He did _not_ want to see them get half-naked, drunk though they might be. 

“So, let’s leave those two… to…. their, er, their own devices, and get you socialized!” Sirius yelled as he tugged them across the room. 

It turned out, though, that neither of them knew anyone at this party except for Peter and James, who seemed to be otherwise occupied: and so they just climbed on top of tables, doing whatever inebriation suggested they did, and for the first time they thought they felt free. 

Somewhere, between pressed-up bodies and shiny eyes and glasses of ambrosia, he found himself with lips locked to someone with burnt grey eyes and a smile that lit up the room. He couldn’t tell who it was, but they felt safe, and so they held hands for the duration of the party— a lifeline— and didn’t let go until the world dissolved into black. 

When he woke up, several hours later, sweaty and with a stinging headache, he kissed Sirius’ damp forehead briefly, and left him curled up on a bed he wasn't sure was theirs. 

In dreams that shouldn’t have been his. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Um. I hope you enjoyed reading that as much as I enjoyed writing these emo trash nerds lmao 8))
> 
> (pssst comments are great 8)) )


	3. living in a lonely world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is pointless fluff, and Remus and Sirius are most definitely heterosexuals. 100%.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, story title changed from It's A Small World After All ➝ Don't Stop Believing. Tell me whether you prefer this title or the old one in the comments, maybe? 8))

> _Remus in italics;_
> 
> **Sirius in bold;**
> 
> James in underline;
> 
> **_Peter in all;_ **

 

(9:51 AM) **Mooooooooony**

(9:51 AM)  _What?_

(9:53 AM) **im booooored. and lonely**

(9:54 AM) _aren’t you supposed to be signing up for your classes this semester?_

(9:56 AM) **well**

(9:56 AM) **yeah**

(9:56 AM) **im too hYYPPEEER ON COFFEEEEEEE to make important decisions!!**

(9:57 AM) _honestly you’re like a helpless puppy_

(9:57 AM) **omg**

(9:58 AM) _what??_

(10:00 AM) **puppy. sirius. dog star, geDDIT????**

(10:00 AM) _jesus christ it’s too early for name puns_

(10:01 AM) **you know you love me ; )**

(10:03 AM) _it’s definitely too early for you to be a fuckboy_

(10:04 AM) **im a fuckboy 24/7 remus i thought u knew that**

(10:09 AM) **reeeeeeemuuuUUSSSSSSSSSSS**

(10:17 AM) **woah dude are you there**

(10:56 AM) _fuck sorry i fell asleep in my bowl of porridge_

(11:03 AM) **oHMYGOD**

(11:03 AM) **tHIS IS HILARIOUS OMFG MOONY**

(11:04 AM) _im not a morning person!!!!!!!! this is what you get when you wake me up at 7:30 am_

(11:05 AM) _with your low quality bon jovi covers_

(11:06 AM) **excuse you my rendition of living on a prayer is a prayer’s response in itself**

(11:06 AM) _was that prayer a request for the tearing of ones eardrums bc_

(11:08 AM) **ha ha ha i see its not too early for snark then**

(11:08 AM) _its never 2 early 4 snark padfoot ;-)_

(11:09 AM) **can we take a moment**

(11:09 AM) **to appreciate the fact**

(11:09 AM) _jfc_

(11:10 AM) **that you used a nose in your winky face**

(11:11 AM) _can we take a moment to appreciate the fact that you actually use the phrase ‘winky face’_

(11:11 AM) **dont…. most ppl call it htat??**

(11:12 AM) _no….._

(11:12 AM) _it’s pretty adorable tbh_

(11:17 AM) **fuk off m8**

(11:18 AM) _ur blushing arnt you??_

(11:20 AM) _im going 2 take that as a yes_

(11:22 AM) **aNYWAY im done w/ signups!!!!!!!**

(11:23 AM) _good! now can i get some sleep? :-)_

(11:24 AM) **omg**

(11:25 AM) **im never going to be over the smiley face noses**

(11:26 AM) **but to answer ur question, no.**

(11:27 AM) _why tf not ???_

(11:29 AM) _did you set the fire alarm off by leaning against it while you tried to flirt with a random guy and need me to rescue you from the chaos you have caused_

(11:30 AM) **jesus christ that was _one_ time why did i ever tell you this**

(11:31 AM) _you were drunk_

(11:32 AM) **remind me never to go partying with you you’re the kind of person who remembers drunk confessions remus thats not fair!!!!!!!**

(11:34 AM) _all’s fair in love and war_

(11:35 AM) **but not all souls are left innocent i see**

(11:36 AM) **waIT u have acknowledged our luv how could i have missed this :~)**

(11:37 AM) _im…….. going to ignore that_

(11:37 AM) _#when u trynna be deep but then again ur talkin 2 a fuckboi_

(11:38 AM) **tru i can’t even deny that…….**

(11:39 AM) _so. back 2 the question??? can!! i!!! go the fuck to sleep like a normal person….._

(11:50 AM) **moony pls**

(11:50 AM) **im literally standing outside our building door…. i just had coffee… do you rlly think im gonna let u sleep**

(11:52 AM) _evidently not_

(11:52 AM) _try not to set the house on fire from the outside_

(11:53 AM) **too late**

 

Remus didn’t even bother to look up when the door swung open and someone ran indoors, not bothering to shut it behind him (it had become something of a habit, and he wasn’t exactly counting on their possessions being left intact by the end of the semester). He had his gaze fixed on the phone in front of him, despite not reading a single word of the book he’d been attempting to start since he’d awakened enough to see beyond globs of fuzzy color. 

“Sirius?” he called, figuring that if it was a criminal who’d broken out of jail, he’d just ask that they leave him to his ‘reading’ in peace and scavenge through their meager possessions undisturbed.

However, he wasn’t that lucky: he heard the bounding of feet before two broad, paint-smelling hands covered his eyes, and an exuberant voice yelled, “Mooooooooony! It’s me!”

Remus dropped his phone into his lap and groaned softly. “It’s too early for you, Padfoot,” he groaned, shoving the hands off his face. Sunlight streamed into his eyes— Sirius had apparently pulled the curtains open, turning his dark and shadowy Batcave into a land of luminance, happiness and fun. _Positively terrifying._

 _“_ It’s never too early for spending time with your good ol’ roommate!” Sirius grinned, sitting down on Remus’ legs and flinging a leg over the arm of the sofa so he was sprawled sideways over the taller boy’s lap.

Remus rolled his eyes, fighting to keep himself from blushing. He was _not_ blushing, because his stupid mess of a friend curling up on top of him was _not_ adorable or cute or blush-worthy in any way. Nope. Obviously not. 

“About that roommate bit,” he smirked, trying to push Sirius off him, but to no avail: he clung on tightly, looking at him with an indignant expression that was remarkably puppy-like. “I think I might be reconsidering…”

He gave a final shove, and Sirius tumbled off his knees onto the floor where he lay, grumbling, in a heap next to Remus’ sock-clad feet. “Wow, Moony, never knew you were that mean,” he whined, standing up and brushing his ripped jeans off dramatically. “We really need to rethink this. I can’t deal with a grumpy Moony at all hours of the day, you see.”

“I’m not grumpy _all_ the time,” Remus replied, grinning. “Just any time respectable people are up and awake.”

“Respectable, am I?” Sirius ran a hand through his hair cockily, grinning down at Remus. _Goddammit, I hate it that sitting down makes him taller than me,_ Remus grumbled internally, before realizing that to solve this he’d have to actually stand up, which was obviously not an option. 

“I wouldn’t call you exactly respectable, no,” he answered— fuck, he was most definitely blushing now, and Sirius seemed to revel in it. 

“Guess you like a bad boy, hmm?” he asked, preening. 

“Does bad entail bothering other people instead of poor Moony here who fell asleep in his fucking porridge, hmm? Because if yes, then I definitely do like bad boys, yep. Most definitely. Absolutely.” _He was not blushing. Not rambling. Not burying his face in his palms. Why would one think that in the first place?_

“Mmm, but you’re so cute all bothered, Remmie,” Sirius said, winking. Remus groaned, chucking his soggy teabag at him. To his annoyance, the boy caught it effortlessly, letting the string dangle from between his fingers tauntingly. 

“Well, this bad boy’s going to be taking a shower to wash all the _education_ off,” he said at last, sauntering off to the bedroom with another haughty flick of his hair. “You’re welcome to join me if ya want to.” Remus groaned, wishing he had an endless supply of teabags to toss at the idiot that was Sirius Black. 

“The very cute idiot,” he grumbled to himself. 

“Wha—?”

“Nothing, Sirius, nothing,” he muttered, going red for what seemed like the fiftieth time in a row. 

 

However, before actually _taking_ the shower he’d invited a very red Remus to (Sirius buried his face in his arms, groaning softly— he really did turn into a Fuckboy Extreme around the brunet, didn’t he?), the dark-haired boy switched on his phone, deciding he’d get through the 87 texts he’d been receiving from James all morning once and for all. 

(12:32 PM) Are you finally gonna answer my texts??

(12:33 PM) I swear I’m going to drive over here if you don’t reply.

(12:33 PM) Jesus christ Pads, answer your fucking phone...

(12:34 PM) **hey mother hen**

(12:35 PM) At last, he replies

(12:36 PM) **i always knew u were in love with me ; )**

(12:37 PM) Oh my god you can’t just act like a fuckboy whenever you get stressed

(12:38 PM) **i dont**

(12:40 PM) Oh please, I’ve seen you around Remus

(12:42 PM)  **…anyway**

(12:43 PM) **why all the concern for my health and safety???**

(12:45 PM) Okay, don’t get mad but

(12:49 PM) **but ?**

(12:50 PM) Peter saw you and Remus together. 

(12:51 PM) **we’re roommates ?**

(12:52 PM) I mean, last night

(12:52 PM) At the party

(12:53 PM) **while you were busy sucking evanses face off, u mean ?**

(12:53 PM) Sirius. 

(12:55 PM) You didn’t

(12:56 PM) Sleep with him ?    

(12:57 PM) **no?? we were drunk, we fell asleep at peters together, i dont even like him ffs**

(12:58 PM) **besides, why do u care…..**

(12:59 PM) Because. Because sleeping with people while drunk just makes things worse.

(1:03 PM) **fuck james im sorry**

(1:05 PM) It’s OK, she’ll come around

(1:05 PM) **there are plenty of fish in the sea**

(1:06 PM) And only one Lily. 

(1:07 PM) **depressing**

(1:08 PM) Mate, you haven’t gotten with one guy since you met Remus at the beginning of summer

(1:09 PM) You’re one to talk

(1:10 PM) **aNYWAY, i have 2 shower**

(1:11 PM) **before you say it, JUST a shower.**

(1:12 PM) If you say so

(1:13 PM) **cheers**

(1:14 PM) Cheers, Padfoot. 

He turned off the phone with a sigh, shoving it into his jeans pocket as he slid to the floor, burying his head in his arms. The bathroom floor was cold and smelled vaguely of lemony disinfectant, and he rather taught he missed the scent of Remus’ fuzzy sweaters: the hint of mint, black tea, and something that felt more like home than he’d ever known in his entire life. 

 

***

“Sirius?” Remus called loudly, hoping his voice would carry through the stringently thin walls over to the little studio room Sirius had quickly barricaded himself the next morning. He had some idea of what he was doing: when Sirius made a brief sojourn to the kitchen to get a mug of coffee, he appeared more paint-covered and turpentine-smelling every time. However, he’d been strictly denied access to actually going in there up till now, and up till then he’d never needed to. 

“Sirius?” he yelled, stepping closer to the door, phone clutched in hand. “Can I ask you something?”

He heard a muffled clank, and then a hissed stream of curses, and just when he thought he’d gone ignored, the noises stifled and a distinctly Sirius voice called, “Come in!”

So, deciding he was a lot more curious about what his roommate got up to in that studio than he’d admitted before, he turned the knob and pushed open the door slowly. 

It was messy, even messier than it had been when they’d first moved in. But it wasn’t the glum, dirty kind of disarray: it was paint splattered on walls, and a collage of damp newspaper and torn sheets of sprawling white paper on the floor, and paintbrushes poking out of glass containers filled with murky water, and smears of charcoal on practically every surface Remus could see. It was the eloquent messy that Sirius Black positively screamed, and though he was normally one for persnickety tidiness Remus couldn’t help but feel enraptured. 

But he’d almost missed the artist himself in the midst of all this clutter: and as Remus walked into the center of the room, he finally caught a glimpse of the dark-haired boy curled up in front of a propped-up canvas. He seemed completely lost in his work, even as Remus made his presence known with the snap of his shoe heels against the floor, but as he approached Sirius quickly turned the painting to the side, blocking his view of it, and looked up. 

“You wanted to ask me something?” Sirius asked, raising a pink-stained eyebrow. 

Remus stared a bit. 

Then, remembering that he was actually here for a reason, he shuffled slightly and turned his phone over in his slightly-sweaty hands. “Right. Uh. Yeah, now I remember,” he mumbled, turning his phone on and thumbing through the notifications until he found what he was looking for, all the while deliberately avoiding Sirius’ smirk. “Yeah, here it is.” He handed the phone to his roommate almost accusingly. “Why is Peter sending me obscure… memes?” He peered over at the screen that Sirius was now looking at thoughtfully. “If they are memes, that is.”

The black-eyed boy looked up, and Remus caught the brief look of slightly-confused amusement before it was settled into marked _seriousness_ (he sure was glad he’d not said that aloud). “Peter spends way too much time on 4chan,” Sirius said dismissively. “He’s like, a meme connoisseur.”

“A _meme connoisseur_?” Remus spluttered. 

“Like, he even witnesses the development of new memes. They’re like little baby fletchlings,” his roommate said, practically _cooing._ Over _memes._ Remus tried not to question his sanity. 

“Little baby fletchlings…” he mumbled, taking back the phone from Sirius’ paint-covered hands mistrustfully. “So does this mean he’s accepted me into the gang? What are we, the Meme Team?”

“The _Marauders,_ actually,” Sirius replied, eyes scanning over his painting intently as he added a few more strokes to the top half, sounding rather affronted. “Meme Team  is definitely a good contender though.”  

“I’m honored, I’m sure,” Remus mumbled, not making any attempt to clear out now that he’d had his question (somewhat) answered. Despite not being able to see Sirius’ art from this angle, watching him add to it was strangely mesmerizing. 

At last, Sirius set down his paintbrush with a loud sigh. “It’s done,” he said, exhaling through his teeth as he stretched his arms above his head (Remus tried not to look too hard at the defined abdominals that peeked out from beneath his roommate’s grubby tee). 

Remus shuffled over slightly. “Can I see it then?” he asked, perhaps a little more excitedly than he’d realized he’d be. 

But Sirius only laughed, and turned the painting away from him. “Just because it’s done,” he said, smiling, “doesn’t mean it’s _right_.” And with that, he stood up, joints popping as he rose to his full, very tiny height of five feet and five inches, and turned to Remus. “Want to get some lunch?”

Remus raised an eyebrow and, after a brief moment of consideration, shrugged. “Sure,” he said, following the boy out of the studio, unable to help but cast a last glance at the back of the canvas he so desperately wished to see. 

**

Lunch, apparently, entailed greasy diner food and kicking Remus’ legs playfully under the table. Also, impromptu performances of Uptown Funk, which he had to quash before one or more chairs broke (the latter was more likely, as Remus didn’t think the spindly-legged pieces of furniture could withstand any more moonwalking). 

“I’ll have a burger with a side of coleslaw, no cheese, no tomato. And, uh, mashed potatoes. And a small Coke too,” Remus said after flicking through the meager menu ten minutes into their voyage (was that _blood_ on the corner of the page?). He looked up at the waitress, who was taking down his order with decided disinterest. “Same for him,” he added, wanting to try get through the ordeal of leaving the house with Sirius Black without getting into too much trouble. 

“Would you like fries with that?” Sirius sniggered, with a forceful nudge at Remus’ Doc Martens. 

“That’s my job, idiot,” the waitress muttered, blowing and popping a rather impressively-sized bubble of bubblegum. 

Sirius pouted. “Well in that case, two large fries. And ketchup, and mustard, and—“

“Someone’s obviously going healthy,” Remus interjected, raising an eyebrow. 

“Listen to your boyfriend, punk,” the waitress said, watching in amusement as Sirius’ mouth slowly closed. “That’s right. You’re whipped as hell, you know.” Giving Remus a mock-salute, she sauntered towards the kitchen, while both boys stared after her, dumfounded. 

“Well, that was—“

“That was _interesting,_ ” Remus finished. 

“Very,” Sirius mumbled, not meeting Remus’ eyes. 

The awkward silence that followed was broken easily by the appearance of their (very nutritional) lunches, and as they dug into their food with enthusiasm, Sirius took to giving side along glances at the waitress who was bustling around the diner. “I thought you said you were: quote, ‘very gay’, unquote,” Remus said suddenly, setting his glass onto the table a little louder than it was supposed to. 

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “I am.”

“Then—“ Remus’ face was tinged with red as he shoved a few fries into his mouth to give him a bit of a delay— “Why are you checking her out?”

At this, the other boy burst into laughter, and Remus’ eyes narrowed as he tried to piece together what was so funny. Was a fry hanging out of his mouth? Was the girl actually a dragon? Who even knew with Sirius Black?

“She’s—“ Sirius snorted again, and Remus couldn’t help but think his giggles were cute, if extremely annoying, for he knew he’d be left out of the loop as long as he was in hysterics. When the laughter had gone on for ten minutes straight, and people were beginning to stare, Remus tossed a napkin at his face and glared at him. 

“She’s _what_ , exactly?”

“I’m pretty sure she’s my cousin’s daughter, but yeah. I’m not into incest. Very into boys, though,” Sirius said, before dissolving into another round of chortles. 

Remus turned to stare at the waitress, who gave him finger shotguns and a smirk, and turned back to Sirius, wide-eyed. 

And then he burst into laughter too, because god, those giggles were infectious (and no, he most definitely was _not_ going to question why he was intensely concerned about Sirius checking someone out).

God, did he love college already. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a bit of a filler chapter with more character interaction than actual plot IM SRRY i felt like i had to update this since i hadn't for so long? and i had this pretty much written out. so yeah i'll update with a better chapter soon !!


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